


Truth or Dare (the Columbus edition)

by Lenore



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Ficlet, Kissing, M/M, Porn Battle, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1779244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sidney blamed in order: vodka, global warming for the flight-delaying weather, and Columbus for being the kind of place where the best way to while away the time was to hole up in Flower's room, raiding the mini bar and playing a poorly organized game of Truth or Dare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth or Dare (the Columbus edition)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ficlet for the Porn Battle and never got around to posting it. Five months later...

The room listed sideways, or possibly that was just Sid. Did rooms go suddenly tilty outside of, say, earthquake situations? He furrowed his brow as he tried to do the physics on that. Okay, probably it was just him. He knew he must be six, possibly even seven sheets to the wind by now, and he blamed in order: vodka, global warming for the flight-delaying weather, and Columbus for being the kind of place where the best way to while away the time was to hole up in Flower's room, raiding the mini bar and playing a poorly organized game of Truth or Dare. 

"Dare!" Nealsy declared loudly. "Brooksie, you have to kiss Sunshine."

"I think you're actually supposed to ask if he wants truth or dare," Paulie pointed out mildly. "Since that's the name of the game."

Brooksie just shrugged and gave Sunshine's cheek a dignified peck, which brought on a round of amused snickering from the other guys. Sunshine ducked his head and turned a few different shades of pink. Sid sympathized. He had something of a blushing problem of his own. 

"Now what?" Flower asked. 

Clueless glances traveled around the room. 

"Does anyone actually remember how to play this game?" Paulie wondered out loud. 

Apparently not. 

Sid yawned and knuckled tiredly at his eyes. It had been a long day, and if mutant fog weren't blanketing the entire area, he would be happily asleep on the plane right now instead of sliding into a drunken stupor. When he had to get up at five in the morning for their flight home, he was seriously going to regret that last shot or two or four of vodka. 

He listed even more to the side and landed on something solid. It took him a moment to realize that the vibration beneath his cheek was someone talking. "Sid lightweight. Give hockey players bad name."

Oh, so it was Geno he'd landed on then. Geno was remarkably warm and comfortable, and Sid leaned a little more heavily against him. Geno's chirp required one in return, he knew, but the best he could manage was, "Am not!" 

Geno laughed, and it sounded weird with Sid's ear pressed against his chest, but also kind of nice, deep and rumbly and oddly intimate. When Geno brought his arm up around Sid's shoulders, it seemed only right to snuggle in a little closer. 

"Okay then," Nealsy said. "Round two. I dare everybody to kiss Flower." 

Geno snorted. "Lazy no imagination. Why all dares kissing?"

That was a good point, Sid thought, not that he'd ever actually played Truth or Dare before. They could have added to that to the list of things he'd given up for hockey in that weirdly depressing [Reebok? Gatorade? What was that thing?] commercial. Still, even Sid could see that Nealsy was doing the game all wrong. Why was it even his turn again? 

"A shutout deserves some love," Nealsy insisted loftily. 

It was hard to argue with that, and guys swooped in to smooch Flower, who looked both pleased and deeply grossed out by all the booze breath suddenly in his face. Sid might even have joined in—he was that drunk—but Geno was just too comfortable. Sid sagged a little more heavily against him. He was going to close his eyes, just for a moment. 

"The captain deserves some love too, eh, G?" Nealsy said in his troublemaking voice.

"Captain not awake," Geno told him. "Have drool on shirt to prove it."

Sid's eyes flew open. "Do not!" 

"Can go back to sleep. Probably not good at game anyway," Geno teased.

Everybody laughed, which just made Sid all the more determined to defend his honor. He wasn't sure how you won at Truth or Dare, but he'd figure out a way. Geno smiled down at him, mischievous, a hint of pink tongue at the corner of his mouth, the way he always looked when he was teasing. That set off the light bulb in Sid's brain, even if the vodka had somewhat dimmed the wattage. The game was kissing, so to win what Sid needed to do was kiss the hell out of Geno. It totally made sense. 

He lifted his head from Geno's shoulder and fumbled his mouth in the direction of Geno's. His shot went wide, and he landed more in the vicinity of Geno's cheek. That was okay. He'd never kissed Geno before, and some trial and error was to be expected. His first time on skates hadn't exactly gone smoothly either, and that had turned out fine. 

Sid's second attempt connected, and he pressed his lips eagerly against Geno's. For a moment, Geno sat perfectly still, and a jubilant voice in Sid's head declared victory. Geno brushed his knuckles against Sid's cheek, tilted Sid's chin up to get a better angle, and put his tongue in Sid's mouth. 

It got kind of confusing after that trying to figure out who was winning. The things Geno was doing with his tongue felt nice, and for once in his life, Sid found he didn't care that much about keeping score. He shivered and clutched at Geno's shoulders and kissed back until eventually he realized that the room had gone suspiciously quiet. When he pulled back, he found everyone staring. 

"What?" he asked crankily. 

"Looks like we have a winner," Flower said dryly. "And on that note, it's time for all good NHL captains to be in bed. Come on, Sid."

Sid would have preferred to stay right where he was. More kissing would definitely be good, and the way Geno was watching him—that was—Sid didn't know exactly what it was, but he was pretty sure he liked it. 

Flower was insistent though, urging Sid to his feet and herding him down the hall to his room and into his bed. "You're going to be a big ball of regret in the morning, my friend," Flower said cheerfully as he left a bottle of water on the nightstand. 

"Am not," Sid argued reflexively, although he would most likely be extremely sorry for the drinking. He was fairly certain that regret made up at least two-thirds of the ingredients in vodka. 

Geno, though. Sid couldn't imagine ever regretting Geno. He fell asleep drooling on his pillow, happy as only a stupidly drunk person could be.

* * *

At five o'clock in the morning, Sid felt considerably less okay with life. He startled awake to the alarm, dragged himself out of bed, and stumbled into the bathroom to throw water on his face. He had a red pillowcase crease on one cheek and an advanced case of bedhead. How were there any Russians still alive if they drank even half as much vodka as Geno claimed?

Geno. Sid paused, staring blearily at himself in the mirror. That was probably weird, right? That Sid had just gone for it and Geno had kissed him back? There were things you did in the name of camaraderie and friendly one-upsmanship, and things you didn't, and even after almost ten years in the NHL, Sid still found it hard sometimes to figure out where those lines were drawn. So, yeah, probably weird, but Sid didn't care, and Geno hadn't seemed to mind, and besides they'd totally won that game of Truth or Dare. 

He got dressed on autopilot, pulled a toque down over his hair, and hauled himself down the hall to the elevator. The team milled around in the lobby waiting for the bus to the airport, which meant that he'd missed breakfast. He bitterly added that to his already long list of grudges against vodka. 

"You look like you want to kill someone, Jesus. Here." Duper pushed a paper cup of coffee and a bagel at him. "Just remember who fed you when you snap and go on your killing spree."

Sid debated whether to glare or say thank you and finally decided to ignore Duper altogether in favor of savoring his cup of blessed, blessed caffeine. Duper patted him on the shoulder and left him to it. 

Flower side-eyed him on the bus but didn't actually say, "I told you so," which was more mercy than Sid was expecting. He slumped back against his seat and resolved that he wouldn't shut his eyes because if he fell asleep he would not want to wake up again anytime soon. The next thing he knew Flower was shaking him, looking infuriatingly alert for the hour and far too amused as Sid blinked at him blearily. 

"We can leave you here if you really want to be a Blue Jacket." Flower grinned evilly. 

Sid made a horrified face because that wouldn't be funny even if he didn't have enough of a hangover for three hockey players. He tramped grumpily off the bus and into the terminal, where he was at least greeted by the smell of coffee. It wasn't Tim Hortons, but it had caffeine in it, and he bought the largest cup anyone would sell him. They boarded their flight, and he had never been so happy to see the inside of an airplane. 

He flopped into his seat, closed his eyes, and thought longingly of his own bed back home in Pittsburgh with his lucky 870 thread count sheets and the proper combination of feather and fiber pillows. 

"What you know about it, Lazy?" drifted back from the front of the plane. 

Sid's eyes popped open. Geno. He'd kind of forgotten that there might be morning-after awkwardness between them. His own memories of last night were spotty at best, but none of it felt bad. It would be weird, though, if Geno thought it was weird, and Sid never wanted things to be weird between them. Just the possibility made him tense up enough to earn a _what's wrong with you now?_ look from Flower. 

Happily, the worry turned out to be completely unnecessary. Geno flashed the same conspiratorial grin he always did after he'd convinced Sid to do shots with him. "Keep practice," he said as he passed by. "One day maybe you able to hold liquor." 

"I can hold my liquor!" Sid insisted at Geno's back as he continued on down the aisle.

Flower shook his head sadly. "Big ball of regret."

Sid glared at him with all the captainly wrath he could muster, which didn't faze him in the slightest. Sid pulled on his eye mask feeling disgruntled and spent the rest of the flight ignoring his team—who, for the record, were the absolute worst.

* * *

Sid's hangover straggled into a second day, because clearly Russians had invented vodka as some sort of advanced inebriation warfare tactic. In better news, the Pens went undefeated on the home stand and started their next road trip with a victory. Everything continued to be perfectly normal with Geno. It was as if nothing had ever happened, as if they'd never played any dumb game of Truth or Dare. 

"I heard about this great club," Suttsy announced after the game. "We really need to check it out."

Sid wasn't particularly in the mood for drinking—he hadn't forgotten what a bad idea shots were—but he didn't want to go back to the hotel either. So he let himself be carried along by his team. 

The music at the club was, as usual, too loud for his ear comfort, but they did spare the strobe lights, which he appreciated. He'd started avoiding them after his concussion, at first because he was afraid they might somehow trigger a relapse and later out of a vague sense that they were unlucky. The guys settled into a banquette, and Nealer went to buy a round, since he'd lost yet another bet with Geno. 

"No vodka for Sid," Flower shouted after him. 

"Hey," Sid protested indignantly, not because he actually wanted vodka, just... _because_. 

"I really don't think it's your drink," Kuni offered mildly. 

Duper shrugged. "If you're the captain, you can have whatever you want, no matter how stupid it is."

Sid glared. "Stop being on my side!"

Geno nudged Sid. "Not worry. I get you secret shots when Flower not look. We celebrate win. Vodka very lucky."

"Um." Sid was pretty sure that vodka luck only worked for Russians. All Canadians got from it was a two-day hangover.

Geno winked in promise, and Sid's cheeks went suddenly too warm. Not that he was being weird or anything. Probably the bar just had the temperature cranked up too high. 

After a couple of rounds, the single guys started to drift away to go talk to girls and embarrass themselves out on the dance floor. Sid stayed put with the marrieds as he usually did, and Geno lingered too, his elbow occasionally brushing companionably against Sid's arm. 

"You come dance?" he asked, 

Sid made a face. 

"Look." Geno elbowed him more emphatically, nodding his head in the direction of the bar. "That girl watch you. Maybe like to dance with NHL captain."

Sid eyed Geno extremely dubiously. Okay, the girl did seem to be looking their way. A group of hockey players tended to attract attention. That didn't mean she was interested in Sid. Anyway. "You know I don't dance. I'm not any good at it." 

It went without saying that he didn't like doing things he wasn't good at. 

Duper regarded him thoughtfully. "You are pretty bottom heavy." 

Sid rolled his eyes. Always with the ass jokes. 

"Maybe I ask girl to dance if you not," Geno said, a teasing light in his eyes. 

Sid shrugged. "Go ahead." She was pretty, but talking to strangers wasn't exactly his idea of fun, and if he were going to pick up someone, he probably would have gone for the guy standing next to her. He'd decided a long time ago that one-night stands really weren't worth the awkward afterward—or the possibility of ending up on Deadspin. 

Anyway, Duper and Flower were discussing video game strategy, and as usual Duper had it all wrong. Sidney wanted in on that conversation. 

"Okay," Geno said. "But we still have vodka later."

Sid waved his hand to say, "go on," already in the middle of explaining why waiting for the right moment to deploy bombs was more effective than just rushing in with explosives blazing. 

It turned into the usual long, heated debate, because Sid had strong feelings about the right way to play, and Duper loved to be contrary. The next time Sid glanced over at the dance floor, Geno was wrapped around a tiny blonde, not the same girl from the bar although she could have been her sister. Geno definitely had a type. The two of them seemed to have given up on any semblance of actually dancing and were just swaying on their feet while they kissed. 

There was nothing unusual about any of this. Geno was always kissing girls. And yet something caught at Sid's attention and made him take a longer look. Warmth uncurled in his belly, and a blush stung his cheeks almost as if Geno were touching _him_ , kissing _him_. Pictures started to fit themselves to the physical sensations and turn into memories, Geno smiling, fond and amused, brushing his knuckles against Sid's cheek, laying a hand against Sid's jaw, holding him still to kiss the breath out of him. 

The too-warm situation in Sid's stomach quickly got out of hand. Knowing that he'd kissed Geno had been one thing; remembering it in Technicolor detail was something else entirely. He blushed retroactively as he recalled how he'd clung to Geno, not caring that everyone was watching. If Flower hadn't broken it up—Sid didn't know what he might have done. Geno had been so warm, and the kissing had felt so nice. Sid remembered thinking that. He hadn't wanted to stop. Maybe if left to his own devices, he would have gone back to Geno's room with him, would have—

He jerked sharply with surprise, knocking into Duper, who caught Brooksie's beer with his elbow sending it toppling, setting off a chain reaction of guys trying to mop up the spill with their napkins. Flower raised an eyebrow of _What is your problem?_ at Sid.

"I have to go," Sid announced abruptly. "I, uh—" He had a couple of excuses he typically fell back on whenever he wanted to leave early. Unfortunately they all came spilling out at once. "I'm kind of tired. I really should ice that bruise. I want to look at some tape before I go to bed."

Flower fixed Sid with a half-smile half -frown that no doubt translated: _We really need to talk about why you're acting like a crazy person._ Definitely time to get out of there. He elbowed his way out of the banquette and beat a retreat to the checkroom. He had his coat in hand and was almost to the door. _Almost_. 

"Sid." It was Geno. Of course, it was. 

Sid turned around slowly. "Um, hey."

Geno's forehead creased with confusion. "You not leave now?"

Sid cleared his throat. "Yeah, uh." He figured it was best not to go down the excuse-making path again given how well that had gone before, so he just repeated, "Yeah." 

Geno took another few steps until he was right up close and personal, just the way they had been while they were kissing. Sid could feel his cheeks getting pinker by the moment. This was weird. He was making it weird between them.

"Come and have drink," Geno said, voice low and coaxing. "We celebrate. You and me."

For just a moment, Sid's traitorous imagination served up a picture of the two of them "celebrating" which had nothing to do with vodka. 

"I really have to go," Sid said, more emphatically. "You should go back to—" He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the dance floor. "You didn't have to—I'm sure she's waiting for you." Geno was really good at kissing. Anybody would want more of that.

Geno shrugged. "It just kissing, Sid. Not important." 

It felt like being slapped, even though Geno hadn't even been talking about him, and a drunken dare was the very definition of unimportant. "I've got to go," he said, the words clipped, unhappy. 

Geno's eyes widened in surprise. "Sid, what—"

"See you in the morning," Sid said quickly and got out of there before things could become any weirder.

* * *

The important thing was: there was no need to panic. This was what Sid had decided by the time he got back to the hotel. Compartmentalization had taken him far in life. He'd built up his skills of picking and choosing what he thought about as meticulously as he'd worked on his faceoffs. The guys he had sex with went in one box, and his teammates went in another. That was all he needed to do now: put Geno back in the right box. It was only kissing anyway, as Geno had said. There was absolutely nothing to think about.

That was the plan. Sidney was good at plans. 

Except apparently when his plan involved ignoring Geno. Sid had always been able to count on his own self-discipline. When he made up his mind to do something, he did it. But every time he turned around Geno was _right there_ , making jokes and grinning and taking off his clothes. Sid dared anyone to be able to ignore that. 

Spending a good ninety percent of his waking hours with his teammates had never been something he'd minded. At the very top of his list of qualities he liked in people was: _good at hockey_. But how was anyone supposed to concentrate when there was so much naked Geno in the locker room? He couldn't believe that had never been a distraction before. 

Thoughts like these left him rabbity and more than a little aggrieved, and he dealt with it the way he always handled emotional stuff, by running away at the first opportunity. Geno looked alarmed at first whenever Sid fled his presence, but eventually his expression started to take a more thoughtful turn, which—what did that even mean? 

The only place where everything felt normal was out on the ice. Sid liked to think that would never change no matter how weird things ever got between them. He reveled in every uncomplicated grin Geno shot him when they were on the bench together, savored every time Geno jubilantly knocked into him after a successful power play. Off the ice, he missed Geno, but what could he do? Things were weird, and he didn't know how to make them unweird. 

The rest of the team watched the situation with a weather eye until apparently they'd had enough and Tanger cornered Sid in his stall after the game one night. "We're going for beers."

"Um, I don't think—"

"Did you hear a question mark?" Tanger walked off before Sid could do more than sputter. 

They always went to the same sports bar when the point was just to hang out and grab a few beers. The place was quiet and a bit shabby with the perennial bunch of old guys hunched over their mugs making wild predictions about how things were going to be different for the Pirates this year. 

"First round's on the captain," Flower announced gleefully. "Make that two beers for me," he told the bartender, grinning. 

Sid eyed him, because Flower should never be encouraged. He did, though, hand over his card, figuring it was only the captainly thing to do. Also if he plied his team with alcohol, maybe they'd let him go home before the Geno situation became unbearably uncomfortable. 

He took his own beer and mingled—someone else might have called it staying as far away from Geno as possible. Geno seemed content to sit at the bar and chirp Nealer, making it easy for Sid to keep his distance. Sid kept catching himself looking over, though, and realized that this really was no different than how he'd always looked at Geno. Now he just understood what it meant. It was hard to decide what was more alarming: that he'd wanted to kiss Geno for so long or that it had taken him all this time to figure it out. 

Every now and then when Sid glanced over, he'd catch Geno's eye, and there was that same considering look he'd seen so often lately. He still had no idea what it meant. That left him feeling nervous and off balance, and he laughed too loudly, voice cracking, at whatever Duper was saying, which turned out to be a story about the pipe that had burst in his kitchen doing hundreds of dollars worth of water damage. 

"Um," Sid stammered sheepishly.

Someone slung an arm across his shoulders, and he knew without even looking that it was Geno, because of course it was. "I borrow Sid. Vodka time." He didn't wait for an answer, spiriting Sid off to the bar. 

Sid fidgeted, stupidly nervous, while Geno ordered the shots. He knew he was being ridiculous—this was _Geno_ —but the unsettled flip-flopping in his stomach just wouldn't stop. 

When the drinks came, Geno scooted a glass over to Sid and held up his own, smiling. He said something in Russian that didn't sound like the usual "to your health" toast that Sid could vaguely recognize and clinked their glasses together. The vodka burned on the way down, but Sid didn't cough it out through his nose, so that was a win. He set his glass down, and Geno was still smiling, standing even closer than he had been before. One hand migrated down to Sid's hip, thumb moving in absent circles over Sid's jeans. 

Sid nervously licked his lips. "Geno." He sounded breathless, even to himself. 

Geno's eyes went darker, his gaze focused intently on Sid's mouth. Sid reflexively licked his lips again, and Geno's grip tightened on his hip. Sid had only had the one beer and the shot, and he really wanted to kiss Geno right now, right here, no Truth or Dare needed. What was _wrong_ with him?

"Hey G," Nealer called out. "Get over here so I can kick your ass at darts."

"That can't end well," Sid heard Flower say. 

He flushed and took a guilty step back from Geno only to realize that Flower had been talking about darts. The last time Nealer had played, an unsuspecting Sunshine had ended up with a dart in his butt from a wildly errant throw.

"G-G-G-G!" Nealer said, more insistently.

Geno gave Sid a long, assessing look and a squeeze to the shoulder, which seemed to mean—something? "I'm come play, Lazy," Geno called back. "Show you how darts done so you not put teammate on IR."

"That was a fluke!" Nealer insisted indignantly. "And Sunshine said he didn't even feel it."

Everyone crowded around to watch, ready to chirp Nealer and hopefully jump out of the way when the stray darts began to fly. Sid knew an opportunity when he saw one—that was kind of his thing—and as soon as the guys were involved in the game, he grabbed his jacket and made a beeline for the door. 

"Hold on. I'll walk you out," a voice called after him. 

Sid stopped in his tracks. Of course Flower would notice that he was trying to slink away. Damned goalie eyes. 

Flower fell in beside him and didn't say anything until they'd crossed the parking lot to Sid's car. "You should probably get that settled." It had the same pragmatic tone as if they were discussing strategy before a game. 

Sid nodded, because Flower was right. He just needed to figure out _how_. Avoidance hadn't exactly been a big success.

He pondered it all during the drive but came to no conclusions. At home, he toed off his shoes with a sigh, stalling there in the entryway in his sock feet, not sure what to do next. Finally he decided on a snack, some TV and sleep, his usual routine. He'd figure out what to do about Geno in the morning. 

A few bites into leftover chicken and pasta the doorbell rang, and Sid answered it expecting that maybe Duper was there to reiterate the message that Flower had delivered. Instead it was Geno smiling at him from the doorstep. 

"Um," Sid said with extreme eloquence. 

Geno waited patiently, continuing to smile, until Sid managed enough presence of mind to step back and let him in. 

"It not too late?" 

"No, no, I was just—" _Trying to figure out how to stop being weird about you_ seemed like maybe oversharing. Sid jerked his thumb toward the kitchen. "Have you eaten?"

Geno smiled hopefully, so Sid led him to the kitchen and served up another plate of chicken and pasta. They settled at the island together, heads bent over their food. Hockey players took their refueling seriously and Sid enjoyed a solid ten minutes free of stammering conversation attempts. He was really sorry to see that last piece of bowtie pasta go. 

When they'd finished eating, he carried their plates to the sink. Geno followed, and Sid was conscious of being watched as he rinsed the plates and placed them in the dishwasher. Geno's gaze felt heavy, expectant, like it meant—what exactly?

Sid turned to face him, because enough was enough already. He meant to demand, _Why are you here?_ Only he couldn't come up with a polite way to put that, so he went the blurting, incomprehensible route instead. "I'm trying to put you back in the right box! Could you please cooperate?"

Geno crossed his arms over his chest, the very antithesis of cooperation. "Maybe I not want in box. Maybe you not want either."

"I'm not sure we're talking about the same thing," Sid ventured. The box metaphor hadn't exactly been self-explanatory. 

Geno ignored him. "It take me time, but I figure out why you so weird, why you get mad at club."

"I wasn't—" Sid tried to insist.

"It not just kiss to you."

Sid's face did a weird thing where his expression couldn't seem to decide if it wanted to be an indignant mask of denial or an honest grimace of humiliation. All the heat in his body rushed to his cheeks in a blush that was probably visible from outer space. He sputtered for a moment, but what was there to say? Geno was right, and Sid had never made a convincing liar. 

Geno moved in closer. "Not just kiss for me either," he said softly. 

Sid had all the questions about what that meant, but he didn't get a chance to voice any of them, because Geno was kissing him. Sid let out a surprised squeak and grabbed onto Geno's shirt to steady himself. Eventually it occurred to him to kiss back. Maybe it wasn't fair to compare, because the first time was a booze-soaked memory, but, whatever, Sid was comparing. This kiss was so much better, sober and just the two of them and only because they wanted to. 

"I haven't—" Sid stuttered out, because it seemed important to say. "With team. I don't—" 

Geno bit Sid on the neck, hard, and it stung in the best possible way. "No more box," he muttered thickly.

And, honestly, who could argue with that? Not Sid, not when Geno had him pressed back against the cabinets, sucking what Sid suspected was going to be the world's largest hickey onto his neck and looking like he was about two seconds from pushing Sid down and fucking him right there on the floor. 

"Bedroom," Sid said firmly. Travertine tile wasn't good for anyone's back, and they had the playoffs think about.

Upstairs they stripped quickly, staring as eagerly as if they didn't see each undress most every day. Naked Geno in the locker room was going to be an even bigger distraction after this, Sid felt certain, but right now he really couldn't worry about that. He pushed Geno down onto the bed, maneuvering until he had Geno where he wanted him, with his back against the headboard so Sid could straddle his lap. 

He kissed eagerly, rubbing their chests together while Geno's hands wandered everywhere, over Sid's thighs and arms and back. Sid moaned. It felt good, the best, but he couldn't help one stray, anxious thought. _What if it's weird afterward?_

Geno kissed Sid's throat. "Worry later. Now I give you hand." He held up his palm for Sid to lick, which Sid probably would have found gross if it had been someone else. With Geno, all he cared about was doing a good job. 

"Sid," Geno groaned, eyes wide and bright as Sid flicked his tongue between Geno's fingers, being extremely thorough. He pulled his hand away and wrapped it around Sid's cock. 

Sid gasped, "God."

Geno squeezed his fingers gently, moved his palm up and down, rubbed his thumb in exactly the right place, watching Sid intently for his reaction. Sid bit his lip. His thighs were already trembling. Geno's hand was big and sure, and everything he did made Sid feel like he was going to melt into a puddle on his lucky sheets.

"You like," Geno said, with a big, pleased smile. "Next time maybe I give you this." He rubbed his dick against Sid's ass. "I think you like too."

Sid had never indulged in much dirty talk in bed—mostly he just liked to get right down to it—but Geno dirty-talking him was—he squeezed his eyes shut and came all over Geno's stomach. He needed a moment to get it together, breathing as heavily as if he'd just finished a shift, and then he scrambled off Geno's lap and knelt between his legs and got his mouth on Geno's dick. 

"Sid," Geno said, sinking his fingers into Sid's hair. It was the last English word before a string of increasingly filthy-sounding Russian. 

He didn't take any longer to come than Sid had, which Sid found gratifying. Not that he was going to be competitive about sex with Geno, but—okay, maybe just a little bit. He flopped down and thought fuzzily about going to get a washcloth, but Geno curled an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. Sid's eyes fluttered closed. Geno really was so warm and comfortable. Clean up could wait.

* * *

In the morning, Sid woke to the sound of snoring in his ear, Geno hogging his pillow, and an arm slung possessively across his chest. He blinked at the ceiling and took a moment to consider if any of that felt weird. No, he was happy to find, not weird at all, although in retrospect he really should have stayed awake long enough to get that washcloth. The dried come situation was pretty gross. 

The lack of weirdness was a big relief, and Sid poked at Geno to wake him up so he could share the good news. "I don't feel weird. Do you?"

"Feel like sleeping," Geno rumbled in answer, not opening his eyes. "Ssh, Sid. 

"But—" This was really important. 

Geno huffed out a breath. "Not weird. Later we do again. Quiet now."

Sid thought that over and decided he was okay with this plan, especially the part about having hot, un-weird sex again. He settled back down, letting Geno pull him in, and fell soundly back to sleep.


End file.
